I finally got all the paperwork in order and submitted my application to Sichuan University! I had forgotten that Dawn at the OSO had told me that the physical was only necessary if I wanted to be able to stay on a student visa for more than 6 months. But since I'm currently only planning to stay for one semester, the physical is unnecessary! I had decided to get it so that I wouldn't have to pay the 300 RMB to get a new physical later. But since I was going to have to get a new one anyway, I might as well wait until I'm sure I'll need one at all. Pleasant surprises: making forgetfulness more fun since 1997.
And I visited a place near my apartment called Sabrina's Country Store, a store dedicated to imported Western food. For the first time in a month, I saw avocados, tortillas, spices other than chili peppers and huā jiāo (cumin!? paprika!?), Western-style soymilk, a couple American microbrews (they carry Dead Guy! the catch: it's $3 a bottle over here), and all of the junk-food brands I've never eaten and never thought I'd miss seeing (OK, well, maybe I don't). It was almost like being home again...and being unable to leave the grocery store.
I also accidentally tried hot pot. I was looking for a place to have a simple lunch and through a series of misunderstandings fueled by my poor Chinese, I ended up going on a tour through the dingy kitchen (don't fall into that gutter running haphazardly along the middle of the cement floor! make sure not to slip on the gristle next to your foot!). After selecting four vegetables (bean sprouts, potatoes, lotus root, and something green and unnameable), I sat down at a table with a burner set into the middle. The next step involved a bowl of sesame-flavored oil, a bowl of garlic, a bowl of cilantro, and a cauldron of boiling red oil teeming with peppers and huā jiāo. The waiter did me the honor of carefully dropping all of the vegetables into the oil, where they cooked. Eating required fishing pieces of vegetables out of the boiling pot with chopsticks and dipping them into a mixture of the sesame oil, garlic, and cilantro. I think I consumed enough oil in this meal to make a batch of french fries in my stomach. But it was seriously delicious (and spicy). I did feel a little bit sad to have had this whole production put on for just one person. Hot pot is definitely a meal best eaten with friends.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Western Food Day
Today I spent a long time registering my residence at both the U.S. Consulate (which, fortunately, is across the street from my apartment), and the local police. They had me fill out a form with my address, dates of arrival and departure, and passport information, and then they entered this into a computer, stamped the form, and gave it back to me. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now, if anything. Do I keep the form when I leave China? Do I show it to the immigration officials? Do I return it to the police station?
After multiple hours of filling out forms, I biked to a nearby Italian cafe and had a very respectable espresso and a drab version of pasta puttanesca (but I ordered it without the anchovies, so maybe I was asking for it). Then I went to a slide show lecture on campus. A Chuan Da teacher from the UK named Jacob was showing slides from his extensive travels around China. The lecture was mainly intended for Chinese students (as opposed to students of Chinese) who wanted to practice their English comprehension. Every word was very clearly enunciated, and there was a vocabulary handout. I attended because it was also billed as being of potential interest to people wanting to learn more about China. Halfway through the lecture, the girl next to me turned and whispered "Jacob is a real gentleman."
Afterward I had dinner at Peter's Grill, the local Tex-Mex chain. I ordered a vegan burrito, but the tortillas were disgracefully small, and there wasn't much inside them except for peppers and onions. But this dinner was part of my field research. This weekend I am planning to have a few friends over and I am making burritos. None of them has ever had a burrito.
On the way home I bought a couple of pirated Chinese movies, thinking they might be good practice. Their titles are Cow and Wheat.
One more anecdote. When I first moved into my apartment, the washing machine was broken (I discovered this when I tried to wash all my clothes and after the cycle found that the soap was still where I had poured it and my clothes were all wet). After this I really needed to wash them, so I took them to a laundry nearby. Apparently there is no such thing as a laundromat in China, so I had to leave my waterlogged clothes (transported in plastic shopping bags) in the care of real laundrymen. The next day I got them back:
After multiple hours of filling out forms, I biked to a nearby Italian cafe and had a very respectable espresso and a drab version of pasta puttanesca (but I ordered it without the anchovies, so maybe I was asking for it). Then I went to a slide show lecture on campus. A Chuan Da teacher from the UK named Jacob was showing slides from his extensive travels around China. The lecture was mainly intended for Chinese students (as opposed to students of Chinese) who wanted to practice their English comprehension. Every word was very clearly enunciated, and there was a vocabulary handout. I attended because it was also billed as being of potential interest to people wanting to learn more about China. Halfway through the lecture, the girl next to me turned and whispered "Jacob is a real gentleman."
Afterward I had dinner at Peter's Grill, the local Tex-Mex chain. I ordered a vegan burrito, but the tortillas were disgracefully small, and there wasn't much inside them except for peppers and onions. But this dinner was part of my field research. This weekend I am planning to have a few friends over and I am making burritos. None of them has ever had a burrito.
On the way home I bought a couple of pirated Chinese movies, thinking they might be good practice. Their titles are Cow and Wheat.
One more anecdote. When I first moved into my apartment, the washing machine was broken (I discovered this when I tried to wash all my clothes and after the cycle found that the soap was still where I had poured it and my clothes were all wet). After this I really needed to wash them, so I took them to a laundry nearby. Apparently there is no such thing as a laundromat in China, so I had to leave my waterlogged clothes (transported in plastic shopping bags) in the care of real laundrymen. The next day I got them back:
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Life Considerations
The last few days were a little bit stressful. I finally made time to visit the Overseas Student Office (OSO) on campus, where I learned more about the process of applying for classes next semester (from Dawn, who I spoke to on the phone back in the summer). The semester doesn't start until the beginning of March (I'd thought it started in February), and until then I will be without a student visa. Renting, furnishing, and various other associated expenses have taken their toll on my savings account, but with just a tourist visa I am officially not allowed to work. One option would be to apply for a full-time job, but I'm pretty reluctant to devote 40 hours a week to teaching right now. Another, more promising option is private tutoring, which isn't officially considered "work". Yesterday I made a flier that I'm going to start putting up around the neighborhood as soon as the Chinese section has completed the obligatory revision stage.
Another thing I finally accomplished yesterday was buying a bike! I took the bus down to an area that was supposed to have many bike shops, allowing the shrewd consumer to play the different shops against each other in order to arrive at the lowest possible price (from various sources I deduced that this is somewhere between 150 and 200 RMB). If I learned one thing from this trip, it is that I am not the shrewd consumer. After getting off the bus, it took me a full hour to find the road with the bike shops. At that point I was too hungry to contemplate buying anything, but luckily there was a friendly-looking noodle shop only a few doors down. At the front of the shop, a slim man in a white, circular cap stood at a counter, kneading two long pieces of dough. I sat down and had the usual exchange ("Do you have vegetarian food?" "Yes." "I don't eat meat, and I also don't eat chicken meat." "This dish doesn't have chicken meat." "OK.""). While I waited, I watched the man as he picked up one of the pieces of dough, and stretched it to the length of his arm span. Then he brought the two ends back together in a twirling motion that made the two lengths spin around each other. Finally he kneaded this twisted dough back into a cylinder. After repeating this several times, he picked up the dough yet again, but this time--using his fingers so quickly that I couldn't see exactly what he was doing--he sliced the dough lengthwise into two parallel strips before bringing the two ends together again (and this time not twisting the strands as he did so). He did this again and again, and each time the number of strands multiplied and became thinner, until, almost magically, he held a handful of noodles. He stopped different batches at different widths, but some of them were almost as thin as spaghetti. Whenever a batch was finished, he would hand it to his assistant (who may have been his son) who would drop them into a vat of hot water. A few minutes later, the noodles would be taken out and delivered to the kitchen, where I could see a woman in a head-scarf (who may have been the man's wife), handling several frying pans.
The noodles were hearty and filling. I think I almost would have preferred them without the overly salty vegetables, which consisted of bell peppers and some kind of white, shredded vegetable that might have been lotus root (ôu). From the man's hat and the woman's headscarf, I guessed these people were Huí--a mostly muslim ethnic group from northwest China--and the man confirmed my guess. It was nice to finally eat at a non-vegetarian place where I could be sure the food wasn't surreptitiously cooked with pork oil.
I visited about five bike shops, but the cheapest bike I could find was still 300 RMB, and the man selling it assured me it would break within a year. Even if I'm not planning on staying more than a year, this didn't exactly make me jump to buy it. Given that it was such a piece of junk, could he make it any lower? I asked. But he wouldn't budge. In fact, I wasn't successful in talking anyone down from their original prices. Seeing that I wasn't going to win in the battle over price, I decided to reconsolidate my forces on the quality front. I bought a bike from a Giant outlet (Giant seems to be the top brand for bikes in Chengdu) for 368 RMB. The bike came with a lock, a basket, and a guarantee to refill either tire and tighten any screws that came loose.
One reason I was so eager to get a bicycle is that the other modes of transportation in Chengdu are dismal. Buses--the only other remotely viable option--are crowded, bumpy, and slow. Worst of all, the schedules are written only in Chinese. Traffic is also terrible. Traffic laws are only loosely followed, if at all; more than once I have seen people driving the wrong way on one-way arterials. The prevailing strategy on the road seems to be something like "drive as fast as you can unless there is actually an object in your path." The result is that every intersection is like a game of chicken played en masse: Cars will speed toward each other from perpendicular directions, until the driver on one side finally loses his nerve and lets the other go by first. Meanwhile, exactly the same thing is happening in the bike lane (at least there are bike lanes!).
But biking has its own problems. Chengdu is notorious for bike theft; today I met someone who said they had their bike stolen seven times during their four years as a student. From other conversations, this doesn't seem like an uncommon figure. Consequently, most people here buy (some prefer to say "rent") used bikes instead of new ones--implicitly acknowledging that by doing so they may be supporting the same people who stole their previous bike(s). The bicycle thieves here (another DVD I bought in Hong Kong was The Bicycle Thief) get the average bicyclist coming and going. As a result, most large stores have bicycle lots where you can pay a few cents to have someone watch your bike for you. Today I also learned that there's a similar setup in the community where my apartment is. For 75 cents a month I can store my bike in a tent where it will ostensibly be safe. People have also stressed to me that leaving my bike on campus is almost a sure way of having it disappear. Yet another reason to be glad I live only a few blocks away.
Another thing I learned from Dawn at the OSO is all of the paperwork that I still have to complete before I can enroll as a student here. This included taking my health examination form to the local hospital and registering it with the Sichuan Entry-Exit Inspection and Quarantine Bureau. I biked there this morning, leaving my bike next to the guard house (making sure to nod to the guard). Among other things, the Chinese health exam form that I brought to my doctor last June called for blood tests for HIV and syphilis, an EKG, and a chest X-ray. She gave me the blood tests, but my doctor let me know that, given my age and health, there was no good reason to take the other two tests. When I showed my form to the nurse in the hospital lobby, she curtly informed me that the form was invalid, because it didn't have my picture on the front with my doctor's official seal (the seal was located on the last page instead, next to her signature). I would have to retake the physical here.
"Can you at least waive the EKG and X-ray?" I asked, explaining that my doctor thought they were unnecessary.
"For foreigners in China, these tests are necessary."
"I see..."
"Have you had breakfast yet?"
"What? Uh...no."
She suggested that I could take the physical now, if I could come back with two passport photos before they closed at 11:30. It was 11:15. I told her I would try another time. I biked away, dejected. I'm still not sure why she asked me if I'd had breakfast.
Tonight I attended a creative writing workshop at the local expat bookstore. The small group of mostly English teachers meets weekly to discuss and critique each other's writing, rotating whose work is under discussion on any given week. This was the first time I have had the chance to talk to any experienced expatriates in Chengdu. Some of them have been living here for many years, and it was encouraging to hear them speak positively about the city, which I admit I had been starting to suspect was primarily a location for getting headaches. I haven't written anything yet (other than the blog, of course), but I plan to keep attending the workshop, which means that within the next few weeks--whenever my turn comes--I will have to write something!
For some pictures:
When I first arrived in Chengdu, Mimi's dad Bob picked me up from the train station. In addition to spending several entire days helping me to find an apartment, giving me a tour of the city, and giving me more advice than I had ever counted on receiving, he (Mimi's mom was out of town) let me stay at their house for the better part of a week while I recuperated from my cold. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. Thank you Bob! Above are pictures of the walkway in front of the house, a delicious meal that Bob cooked, and Bob himself, looking across the wreckage of an elaborate restaurant meal. And, for good measure, here is a picture of the pedestrian-only shopping street in Chengdu, crowded enough to rival the westernmost of doors:
Another thing I finally accomplished yesterday was buying a bike! I took the bus down to an area that was supposed to have many bike shops, allowing the shrewd consumer to play the different shops against each other in order to arrive at the lowest possible price (from various sources I deduced that this is somewhere between 150 and 200 RMB). If I learned one thing from this trip, it is that I am not the shrewd consumer. After getting off the bus, it took me a full hour to find the road with the bike shops. At that point I was too hungry to contemplate buying anything, but luckily there was a friendly-looking noodle shop only a few doors down. At the front of the shop, a slim man in a white, circular cap stood at a counter, kneading two long pieces of dough. I sat down and had the usual exchange ("Do you have vegetarian food?" "Yes." "I don't eat meat, and I also don't eat chicken meat." "This dish doesn't have chicken meat." "OK.""). While I waited, I watched the man as he picked up one of the pieces of dough, and stretched it to the length of his arm span. Then he brought the two ends back together in a twirling motion that made the two lengths spin around each other. Finally he kneaded this twisted dough back into a cylinder. After repeating this several times, he picked up the dough yet again, but this time--using his fingers so quickly that I couldn't see exactly what he was doing--he sliced the dough lengthwise into two parallel strips before bringing the two ends together again (and this time not twisting the strands as he did so). He did this again and again, and each time the number of strands multiplied and became thinner, until, almost magically, he held a handful of noodles. He stopped different batches at different widths, but some of them were almost as thin as spaghetti. Whenever a batch was finished, he would hand it to his assistant (who may have been his son) who would drop them into a vat of hot water. A few minutes later, the noodles would be taken out and delivered to the kitchen, where I could see a woman in a head-scarf (who may have been the man's wife), handling several frying pans.
The noodles were hearty and filling. I think I almost would have preferred them without the overly salty vegetables, which consisted of bell peppers and some kind of white, shredded vegetable that might have been lotus root (ôu). From the man's hat and the woman's headscarf, I guessed these people were Huí--a mostly muslim ethnic group from northwest China--and the man confirmed my guess. It was nice to finally eat at a non-vegetarian place where I could be sure the food wasn't surreptitiously cooked with pork oil.
I visited about five bike shops, but the cheapest bike I could find was still 300 RMB, and the man selling it assured me it would break within a year. Even if I'm not planning on staying more than a year, this didn't exactly make me jump to buy it. Given that it was such a piece of junk, could he make it any lower? I asked. But he wouldn't budge. In fact, I wasn't successful in talking anyone down from their original prices. Seeing that I wasn't going to win in the battle over price, I decided to reconsolidate my forces on the quality front. I bought a bike from a Giant outlet (Giant seems to be the top brand for bikes in Chengdu) for 368 RMB. The bike came with a lock, a basket, and a guarantee to refill either tire and tighten any screws that came loose.
One reason I was so eager to get a bicycle is that the other modes of transportation in Chengdu are dismal. Buses--the only other remotely viable option--are crowded, bumpy, and slow. Worst of all, the schedules are written only in Chinese. Traffic is also terrible. Traffic laws are only loosely followed, if at all; more than once I have seen people driving the wrong way on one-way arterials. The prevailing strategy on the road seems to be something like "drive as fast as you can unless there is actually an object in your path." The result is that every intersection is like a game of chicken played en masse: Cars will speed toward each other from perpendicular directions, until the driver on one side finally loses his nerve and lets the other go by first. Meanwhile, exactly the same thing is happening in the bike lane (at least there are bike lanes!).
But biking has its own problems. Chengdu is notorious for bike theft; today I met someone who said they had their bike stolen seven times during their four years as a student. From other conversations, this doesn't seem like an uncommon figure. Consequently, most people here buy (some prefer to say "rent") used bikes instead of new ones--implicitly acknowledging that by doing so they may be supporting the same people who stole their previous bike(s). The bicycle thieves here (another DVD I bought in Hong Kong was The Bicycle Thief) get the average bicyclist coming and going. As a result, most large stores have bicycle lots where you can pay a few cents to have someone watch your bike for you. Today I also learned that there's a similar setup in the community where my apartment is. For 75 cents a month I can store my bike in a tent where it will ostensibly be safe. People have also stressed to me that leaving my bike on campus is almost a sure way of having it disappear. Yet another reason to be glad I live only a few blocks away.
Another thing I learned from Dawn at the OSO is all of the paperwork that I still have to complete before I can enroll as a student here. This included taking my health examination form to the local hospital and registering it with the Sichuan Entry-Exit Inspection and Quarantine Bureau. I biked there this morning, leaving my bike next to the guard house (making sure to nod to the guard). Among other things, the Chinese health exam form that I brought to my doctor last June called for blood tests for HIV and syphilis, an EKG, and a chest X-ray. She gave me the blood tests, but my doctor let me know that, given my age and health, there was no good reason to take the other two tests. When I showed my form to the nurse in the hospital lobby, she curtly informed me that the form was invalid, because it didn't have my picture on the front with my doctor's official seal (the seal was located on the last page instead, next to her signature). I would have to retake the physical here.
"Can you at least waive the EKG and X-ray?" I asked, explaining that my doctor thought they were unnecessary.
"For foreigners in China, these tests are necessary."
"I see..."
"Have you had breakfast yet?"
"What? Uh...no."
She suggested that I could take the physical now, if I could come back with two passport photos before they closed at 11:30. It was 11:15. I told her I would try another time. I biked away, dejected. I'm still not sure why she asked me if I'd had breakfast.
Tonight I attended a creative writing workshop at the local expat bookstore. The small group of mostly English teachers meets weekly to discuss and critique each other's writing, rotating whose work is under discussion on any given week. This was the first time I have had the chance to talk to any experienced expatriates in Chengdu. Some of them have been living here for many years, and it was encouraging to hear them speak positively about the city, which I admit I had been starting to suspect was primarily a location for getting headaches. I haven't written anything yet (other than the blog, of course), but I plan to keep attending the workshop, which means that within the next few weeks--whenever my turn comes--I will have to write something!
For some pictures:
When I first arrived in Chengdu, Mimi's dad Bob picked me up from the train station. In addition to spending several entire days helping me to find an apartment, giving me a tour of the city, and giving me more advice than I had ever counted on receiving, he (Mimi's mom was out of town) let me stay at their house for the better part of a week while I recuperated from my cold. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. Thank you Bob! Above are pictures of the walkway in front of the house, a delicious meal that Bob cooked, and Bob himself, looking across the wreckage of an elaborate restaurant meal. And, for good measure, here is a picture of the pedestrian-only shopping street in Chengdu, crowded enough to rival the westernmost of doors:
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Brian, you're not going to believe this
Today I met up with Diana, the niece of my mom's friend. After lunch near Sichuan University, we took the bus downtown, where I bought a few things, such as a sweater and a dictionary. Then we went into a new shopping mall. On the outside of the mall was a directory board, and it indicated that on the fifth floor there was a place called "Loving Hut". I realized that it was next to impossible that another branch of the Hong Kong vegan restaurant would be in Chengdu.
While I was in Hong Kong, I ate dinner at Loving Hut twice, and both times it was delicious fare. Here's a picture of my second dinner, soya steak with black pepper sauce, and a soup majestically but enigmatically titled "Boiled Momordicae Grosvenori Swingla with fresh & dry cabbage in soup".
The place was laid out sort of like a cafeteria. First you ordered and paid, and then you took your receipt to the deli counter, where you traded it for a numbered token. Then you sat down, and waited for them to call your number. Then when your number was called you got up to retrieve your tray, and met the waiter who had started carrying it to your table awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant. The white walls, off-white furniture, and yellow color scheme also added to the cafeteria effect. Still, it was clean, relatively quiet, and as I said the food was good.
A TV attached to the ceiling in the corner of the room was showing news of some kind. In the corner was the logo: SupremeMasterTV.com. I thought that was sort of a strange name for a news network. While I was eating, the waiter gave me a big magazine filled with vegetarian recipes, vegetarian-related stories, quotes by famous vegetarians, and a directory of vegetarian restaurants in Hong Kong (I was surprised to see there were hundreds!). Inside the cover of the magazine was an ad for Supreme Master TV. After dinner I started talking with one of the waiters, trying to find out who published the magazine, and how it was related to the TV network.
"Do you meditate?" the waiter asked me.
"Sometimes?" I ventured. The waiter laughed and gave me a thin book, with a picture of a slightly androgynous woman of indeterminate age, looking serene and resolute. The cover said the woman's name was Ching Hai. Ching Hai, the waiter told me, was their Supreme Master. From talking to him and reading some of the book, I learned that she was the founder of a religion--influenced by both Buddhism and Catholicism--that prescribed vegetarianism and two and a half hours of daily meditation, had its own TV station, and whose members supposedly numbered in the tens of thousands. Loving Hut was actually an international chain of restaurants, all of whose employees were apparently devotees of Ching Hai. I asked if he knew of any vegetarian restaurants in China, but he said he didn't think there were many. I figured some kind of censorship would have kept Ching Hai from publicly organizing in China--I even left the book the waiter gave me in Hong Kong for fear that if I was searched I would be found with illegal propaganda!
Anyway, trying not to get my hopes up, I followed Diana into the shopping mall, which was oriented as a rectangle with the ground floor as a kind of atrium and the floors above it circling around (kind of like Pacific Place in Seattle). As we walked toward the escalator, I noticed that the walkway was on a slight uphill incline. Looking across the void to the other side, I saw the the parallel walkway was inclined downhill--yet somehow they met at the ends--and I had what I am going to call an "Escher moment". Then I realized that the parallel walkways didn't meet at both ends and the whole thing was a giant spiral.
At the top of the mall, sure enough, was a Loving Hut. I went in and told the waitress how much I appreciated her restaurant being where it was. Then Diana and I went downstairs for some fruit drinks. This is Diana with the alcohol menu:
After that we met up with Diana's boyfriend, David, and the three of us went back to the Loving Hut for dinner. This branch was much more like a restaurant than a cafeteria. And while the one in Hong Kong had served what I guess was Hong Kong-style food (fried rice?), the restaurant here was definitely Sichuan-style. We had Mapo Tofu (soft tofu cooked in spicy red oil with plenty of "ma?"--the tingling, numbing flavor that comes only from a special Sichuanese peppercorn), spicy pickled vegetables, spicy fake sausage, a giant bowl of spicy fake fish bathing in hot peppers and red oil, and--the one exception to the Sichuanese theme--a vegetarian version of Peking Duck.
It's getting late, so I'll have to continue the Border Crossing Saga later. For now, here are some pictures from Hong Kong:
And here are a few from my trip to Lamma Island:
And here is a shop we saw today while looking for a bus map:
Goodnight!
While I was in Hong Kong, I ate dinner at Loving Hut twice, and both times it was delicious fare. Here's a picture of my second dinner, soya steak with black pepper sauce, and a soup majestically but enigmatically titled "Boiled Momordicae Grosvenori Swingla with fresh & dry cabbage in soup".
The place was laid out sort of like a cafeteria. First you ordered and paid, and then you took your receipt to the deli counter, where you traded it for a numbered token. Then you sat down, and waited for them to call your number. Then when your number was called you got up to retrieve your tray, and met the waiter who had started carrying it to your table awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant. The white walls, off-white furniture, and yellow color scheme also added to the cafeteria effect. Still, it was clean, relatively quiet, and as I said the food was good.
A TV attached to the ceiling in the corner of the room was showing news of some kind. In the corner was the logo: SupremeMasterTV.com. I thought that was sort of a strange name for a news network. While I was eating, the waiter gave me a big magazine filled with vegetarian recipes, vegetarian-related stories, quotes by famous vegetarians, and a directory of vegetarian restaurants in Hong Kong (I was surprised to see there were hundreds!). Inside the cover of the magazine was an ad for Supreme Master TV. After dinner I started talking with one of the waiters, trying to find out who published the magazine, and how it was related to the TV network.
"Do you meditate?" the waiter asked me.
"Sometimes?" I ventured. The waiter laughed and gave me a thin book, with a picture of a slightly androgynous woman of indeterminate age, looking serene and resolute. The cover said the woman's name was Ching Hai. Ching Hai, the waiter told me, was their Supreme Master. From talking to him and reading some of the book, I learned that she was the founder of a religion--influenced by both Buddhism and Catholicism--that prescribed vegetarianism and two and a half hours of daily meditation, had its own TV station, and whose members supposedly numbered in the tens of thousands. Loving Hut was actually an international chain of restaurants, all of whose employees were apparently devotees of Ching Hai. I asked if he knew of any vegetarian restaurants in China, but he said he didn't think there were many. I figured some kind of censorship would have kept Ching Hai from publicly organizing in China--I even left the book the waiter gave me in Hong Kong for fear that if I was searched I would be found with illegal propaganda!
Anyway, trying not to get my hopes up, I followed Diana into the shopping mall, which was oriented as a rectangle with the ground floor as a kind of atrium and the floors above it circling around (kind of like Pacific Place in Seattle). As we walked toward the escalator, I noticed that the walkway was on a slight uphill incline. Looking across the void to the other side, I saw the the parallel walkway was inclined downhill--yet somehow they met at the ends--and I had what I am going to call an "Escher moment". Then I realized that the parallel walkways didn't meet at both ends and the whole thing was a giant spiral.
At the top of the mall, sure enough, was a Loving Hut. I went in and told the waitress how much I appreciated her restaurant being where it was. Then Diana and I went downstairs for some fruit drinks. This is Diana with the alcohol menu:
After that we met up with Diana's boyfriend, David, and the three of us went back to the Loving Hut for dinner. This branch was much more like a restaurant than a cafeteria. And while the one in Hong Kong had served what I guess was Hong Kong-style food (fried rice?), the restaurant here was definitely Sichuan-style. We had Mapo Tofu (soft tofu cooked in spicy red oil with plenty of "ma?"--the tingling, numbing flavor that comes only from a special Sichuanese peppercorn), spicy pickled vegetables, spicy fake sausage, a giant bowl of spicy fake fish bathing in hot peppers and red oil, and--the one exception to the Sichuanese theme--a vegetarian version of Peking Duck.
It's getting late, so I'll have to continue the Border Crossing Saga later. For now, here are some pictures from Hong Kong:
And here are a few from my trip to Lamma Island:
And here is a shop we saw today while looking for a bus map:
Goodnight!
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